Setting souls free - the Preethi Srinivasan story

Preethi Srinivasan was helped off her bed into her wheelchair and secured by straps by volunteers from Rotaract on an overcast morning at her home in Tiruvannamalai.

That was the morning routine her mother Vijayalakshmi explains, "she's tied up everywhere, or she'll fall off to one side or another", as Preethi was being wheeled out of her room by the two volunteers, making her way to their rather large living room that had a dome encompassing it.

Srinivasan, meanwhile, was as jolly as ever, going through the motions and completing the formality of introductions to her 88-year-old grandmother who sat chopping beans on the dining table in a far corner of the room. Given the early hours of my visit, her mother offered some homemade energy balls, joking that I will need those given my desire to have a chat with her daughter. Soon after, her mother made her way to the market, as Srinivasan began her story, with the Rotaract volunteers as an audience.

Srinivasan, who was, and still is, Tamil Nadu's youngest women's cricket state player of all time, was only 8 when she made it to the senior state team. The first 18 years of her life flowed in only crests, where she rode astonishing waves of success. The other 19 have been spent as a quadriplegic.

In her adversity, however, she found opportunity and counter-attacked, to fearlessly overcome her limitations and emerge victorious, much like her hero Vivian Richards did through his career. It culminated in her being awarded the 'Kalpana Chawla Award for Courage and Daring Enterprise' on August 15, 2017. Not for her achievements on a cricket field, but for her work after being confined to a wheelchair.

Srinivasan now, at 37, is the founder of Soulfree, an organization that caters to serving those with spinal cord injuries. Having experienced the struggles first-hand of how ill-prepared India as a country is for those with injures of the nature, the suicide of two girls in her town spurred Srinivasan to take matters into her own hands. After two near-death experiences, backed by the undying love, support and motivation from her mother, began a new chapter in her life.

***

Srinivasan was four when her father had to usher her down to the beach in Chennai to distract her from the loss of her beloved West Indies side to India in the final of the World Cup in 1983 - such was her adoration for her hero, Richards. "I was and still am a massive fan of Vivian Richards," gushes Srinivasan. "The way he sauntered onto the field... my God! He was a God! As long as he played, I always supported the West Indies."

Given her adoration for the sport at such a young age, her father took her to a coach and her tryst with cricket began. When she was the youngest to enter the senior team, she only received support and adoration from her seniors, some of who were as old as 21, to the extent to which they would even wash her whites for her.

But cricket wasn't the only area in which Srinivasan excelled. She floated between No.1 and 2 at state-level swimming by the age of 8, competing at the national level, fulfilling her father's dream of her being a competitive swimmer. "Because of swimming, I became so strong that I could throw the ball from the boundary line into the 'keeper's gloves. I could bowl my ten overs on the spot without extras. I had everything going for me," she says, before excitedly offering to show me a video clip of leading the Under-19 side in a game that remains Tamil Nadu's only win in a national tournament till date, when she was 17.

Srinivasan was only a teenager, but her articulation and confidence after their victory, would've given you the impression of her being well beyond her age. She finished the tournament as one of the highest wicket-takers with 16 and was named the best bowler of the tournament. Her cricket exploits were followed by her swimming ones that were extracted by converting a VHS tape, showcasing her swimming routine when 16 as she scaled the length of the pool, undisturbed, with the grace of a shark.

Little had the 18-year-old then known that it would be water, ironically, that would eventually be the cause for the loss of her fins. It all came down to one single wave on a private beach en route Chennai during a school trip that reduced her, in her own words, from a "hero to zero".

**

"We got a call and rushed to the hospital on hearing of the accident," her mother recollects. "Nobody knew the seriousness of the injury. She was talking normally. I was really calm and composed at the time, as was she. We only realised how serious it was much after. Her father wasn't here too, so I was assuring him that she's okay."

Just prior to the beginning of Srinivasan's second year of a consolidated five-year MBA, her college took them on an excursion to Pondicherry. On their way back to Chennai, they halted at a private beach, owned by her classmate's father, where they were playing in the water. She was caught unaware by a receding wave in about two feet of water that churned up the sand from under her feet. While she was jumping with the waves, this one tripped her as she stumbled and fell face first, sending a shock-like sensation through her body, leaving her sensationless. She was helped out by her friends.

An ambulance from Pondicherry arrived and took her to JIPMER with nothing but a spondylitis collar around her neck. She knew that it was more than that and asked for a doctor, but was deprived of immediate medical care until four hours after her accident.

She was flown down to Chicago, where her father worked as a consultant with SAP, a few days after. "My initial rehab took place in the Rehab Institute of Chicago - one of the world's leading centres for spinal cord injuries. If I had not had it there, I don't think I would've made it alive. Honestly. It's sad, but... people with such high level of injury are not making it very long.

"Mine is high, but not the worst of its kind. A spinal cord injury is the break in connection between the brain and the body. When the brain sends a message to the thumb saying move, it moves. My brain is fine and my thumb is fine, but the message is not reaching the thumb. The nerves are the body's wiring system and when the wiring gets cut, it gets cut. That's what happened," she says.

It wasn't an easy ride for someone who was so used to being looked at with admiration to see pity in the eyes that looked at her now, while others never met them. Srinivasan had lost her identity all in a split second of bad luck. It left the 18-year-old dealing with constant panic attacks, even being unable to breathe, when looked at by people. She remained in the confines of her home for two whole years, suffering from bed sores that needed plastic surgery to fix.

Eventually, on instruction of their guru, they moved to Tiruvannamalai and settled there in 2000.

"Those two years I didn't want to live," says Srinivasan. "I was ready to turn my back on the world. Then when we came to Thiruvanamalai, people would come up to me and ask questions like 'what happened? Was it like this since birth? Can 'it' talk? Is it a boy or a girl?' Because I used to wear trousers. I was deeply affected. It was breaking down my sense of identity in a very fundamental way."

**

Her father quit his job and her parents dedicated their lives that point on in care of Srinivasan; they sacrificed their lives so that she could live with dignity. There was no income, just sustenance through her father's savings and some rent. But, they not once complained about the circumstances they found themselves in. If anything, their unconditional love and dedication helped her dream and live again.

After their move to Tiruvannamalai, her parents encouraged her to do something again that would keep her occupied and maybe give her a different perspective. She decided she wanted to study psychology, being intrigued by the working of the human mind, but she was refused admission because of her confinement to a wheelchair. Srinivasan had belonged to an elite group of the top two percentile of the American school population earlier, even being awarded the Who's Who Among American High School Students, which would give straight entry into any Ivy League school. But she was denied admission into a university in the south of India.

Without wanting her discouraged further, her father bought her books that she began reading and found a hobby. A family friend then offered her a job where she needed to read and synopsise books for him. That was her first means of income. Her father would do the typing for her as she would complete her tasks on time.

At the same time though, she kept falling ill regularly with the threat of death at any point. And then she had a near-death experience - in 2001. "I stopped breathing, and turned blue as a result. Somehow, the spasticity in my legs on a couple of occasion went into the lungs which means the lungs were stuck together. So they created a kind of vacuum. The more I tried to breathe, the vacuum made it tighter so I felt my body die and eventually lost consciousness. I had an out of body experience, but it was very short the first time though." Spasticity is the condition caused by damage to the part of the spinal cord that controls voluntary movement, wherein certain muscles continuously contract which leads to stiffness or tightness of the muscles. It can interfere with normal movement and speech.

And then it happened again in 2008. This time it was a medical miracle as she survived to tell the tale despite having stopped breathing for almost eight minutes. If the brain fails to get oxygen for over 30 seconds, it starts to shut down part by part, but she came out seemingly with most of her brain cells intact.

"Second time, when I watched my body die, I could witness my own death and not be afraid to die," she says. That caused an overhaul to her entire approach to life. She didn't have anything to fear anymore.

But, it was in 2007 that she was dealt with the real blow when she lost her father overnight to a heart attack. Four days later, her mother suffered a stroke of her own which left Srinivasan in uncharted waters, suddenly finding herself as the decision-maker. From not having even known how to operate a mobile phone until the point where she had to - with help - inform relatives of her father's death, Srinivasan had life-changing decisions to make as her mother needed a by-pass surgery. And with the thought of what would happen of her if anything ever happened to her mother, given that in all of India, there are only two facilities to care for patients with spinal cord injuries, she had some thinking to do. The centre in Pune only cared for those who belonged to services. The other, a short-term facility in Thirunalvelli district, didn't accept women.

They had no medical insurances nor any income. Srinivasan knew something had to be done; she had to stop being daddy's little girl and take control.

During her own illness, her mother was worried about the well-being of Srinivasan and what would happen of her. Around the same time, came the news of the suicide of three girls within the district, who were spinal cord injury patients themselves. "I was worried as to what would happen of Preethi if something had happened to me then. Something needed to be done to care for those who are unable to care for themselves, so I started pushing her to find a way out," says her mother, as she shook Srinivasan's hands and legs which were cramping up.

"In all of India, we're a billion strong population, 43% of it is the women's vote, more than 2% are severely disabled. If a woman is in my condition and her family isn't around to care for her, she has nowhere to go," says Srinivasan. "These girls are being told they don't deserve to live. Three girls in the district committed suicide; Soulfree came into being, thus. If I was going to be scared of starting something because of the fear of failing, I was going to be part of the problem, not the solution."

**

Without having an idea of accounts are run, or an organization formed, Srinivasan learnt it all. Not just that, she found some new-found freedom in her wheelchair - that is usually associated with confinement.

"I started knowing nobody and nothing," she says. "The way things have worked out has been pretty miraculous. I have no reason to complain. I feel like I provide people with a different perspective. My goal is in life is to spread love, light and laughter wherever I go, in any moment. For me, the definition of success is one who can find a smile, gratitude or the positive energy even in the darkest moment when everyone else would've given up. I am leading a successful life," she smiles.

Her environmental-friendly wheelchair gives her the freedom to go around her town undisturbed - and by herself. Not just does she go buy groceries for the house, but also used to take her dog, Toby, for a walk, tying his leash around her armrest, before he recently passed away. Srinivasan has completed ten 15 kms circumambulation of the mountain, that takes 4-4.5 hours, all by herself.

When asked about moving to a city, she dismissed the idea straight-up. And for obvious reasons. "There is peace of mind in Tiruvannamalai. The cost of living is low. I would feel like being under house arrest in a city. At least I can live with dignity here and freedom. Where can I go in a city? I feel claustrophobic when I visit one. There are too many people. Here, I can create an environment where people can live in peace."

The length and detail of Srinivasan's messages would never give you the impression of communication with someone who can't use their limbs. And what has been a massive aid for her has been the cost-effective Dragon Speech activated software - which performs every action on a computer on the basis of her voice inputs. She not just can access basic computer functions but also challenges that she can type faster than the average person. She now is the breadwinner of the family through her various undertakings, running her family that comprises her mother and grandmother. She works full-time at Moviebuff.com as a copywriter. She runs Soulfree, raising money for which, mainly through her motivational talks.

"Somehow, there has not been any dearth for funds as such. We need volunteers, infrastructure, those kind of things, yes. If you say 10 wheelchairs, money is coming from somewhere. I don't take a penny from Soulfree," she says, not forgetting to acknowledge those who have stood by her, like Tamil Nadu Health Secretary J Radhakrishnan. "We have already been through so much. Don't want to do anything wrong. We want to help other people who don't have a face or voice and those who are not cared for. We want to ensure people in need have at least the basic quality of life. Nobody should be forced to commit suicide. Life is very cheap in India, and I want to change that.

"We're trying to delve deeper into the problem and the more we see, the more we understand that the task at hand is huge. It's really immense and we know that a lot of work is to be done and we're committed to it. We're working with the government as well and we need to get infrastructure in place if we really want to do something on the ground level. That's what we are working towards. Eventually, we hope that something good will come out of it."

It hasn't been an easy journey for Srinivasan, by any means. Right from being denied entry into the Guruvayur temple in Kerala, where they didn't allow her in because of being in a wheelchair, she faced mere indifference from other corners. But, that didn't stop her from smiling and embracing a new life when she had the choice. During the course of the three-hour visit, not once did that smile leave her face. It posed the question of whether our mundane everyday complaints are even valid.

Such is the extent of irony in Srinivasan's plight that despite losing all sensation below neck, wherein she can't even feel the beauty of the human touch, feeling a burning sensation instead, it hasn't stopped her from touching the lives of many. In what was the break of a new dawn for her, she not just set her soul free, but has done that for many others.